Where is there a good drug dealer when you need one?

January 2, 2011:  For the 3^rd time I tried to get anti-malarial medication for when I enter the malaria infested areas in the northern part of South America and again I failed.  The doctors here in Brazil informed me I don’t need anything until I contract the virus.  Then when I read the website for the CDC (Centers for Disease Control) they recommend that I take an anti-malarial medication.  Different countries…different solutions.

It is obvious now that I am not going to get these pills through the proper channels.  Testing a few pharmacists here to see if they can be swayed on giving me just a week’s worth of pills without a prescription, it too didn’t work.

Where is there a good drug dealer when you need one? 

2012 New Year’s Resolution

January 1, 2012:  On New Year’s Eve while walking down the main street in the Barra district of Salvador, we were drawn to the magnetic pull of the large speakers and stage that some must-be-famous musician stood creating an unbelievable amount of noise pollution.  Every second that passed, the streets would become more and more congested, until the point it became impossible to go anywhere without great difficulty.  Standing there with all of the other sardines, we patiently waiting for midnight as the last minutes of the old year ticked away. 

As midnight struck, the music stopped and the controlled explosions shot up into the night.  It started slow…really slow, as if kids were shooting off some store bought fireworks from a nearby Indian Reservation in their backyard.  Once it did pick up, it eventually peaked and oddly got smaller and smaller, fizzling out with no well defined grand finale.  It was if someone was confused on what cords to pull at what times pulling the grand finale well before its time. 

Once the last series of fireworks went off, the music started back up making me feel as if we were now obligated to stay longer just because we made this big effort getting here.  The older I get the more and more I see pleasure in watching the walking corpse Dick Clark pull off another production at Time Square via the television.  

Cecile took a flight back home this morning not many hours into the New Year.  I tried to send her home with as much as I could so that my dream of having a light backpack would become a reality, but when the time came to get rid of my stuff…I could only part with a few items - not at all as much as I originally planned.

After this visit, I thought that perhaps my New Year’s resolution should be to learn how to forecast my future destinations better so that I can get more visitors.  So far I have my Mom and possibly my Dad lined up…anyone else?

“I am going to phuck you up” he tells me…

December 25, 2011:  At night while Cecile and I sat on the stairs outside a church, this man came up sitting close next to me requesting money for food.  With the size of his eyes, looking as if he was missing his eyelids, the money was probably going to feed something, just not his stomach and more like a habit.  The addicts are so creative to get a fix that I read they will sell the food you buy them, so that they can purchase more drugs.

Since asking nicely for the money didn’t work he decided to be more aggressive by doing an air punch towards my face saying, “I am going to phuck you up” making it clear that he wanted money.  I was for certain that there were police officers close and said loudy, “ahhhhh, you want the policia – policia?”  Grabbing my arm, it was obvious that he didn’t want me to go to them, perhaps permenantly banning him from the plaza where just yesterday my pocket was picked.  Breaking it free, I shuffled Cecile off as I pretended we were going to get the police.

People can at times be so predicable.  It is dogs that are unpredictable.

Unknowingly a hand slides in my pocket…

December 24, 2011:  Seeing some temporary friends after a failed attempt to go to a midnight mass, Cecile and I sat down with them for a drink at these makeshift bars in the Praca da Se in Salvador.  Not going over my two drink limit, yet I failed to realize the power of a Caipirinhas - a popular yet potent drink here in Brazil.

While sitting in the Plaza, the sharks (thieves) were circling us sardines (tourists).  It started with a kid walking up to the table and casually grabbing someone’s cigarettes and walking away…assuming that nobody was going to do anything – and, nobody did.  Next it was a dirty drug user asking for money standing around the table.  Oddly she leaned over my shoulder as she was reaching for some object on the table – remembering that I was happy at that moment that I don’t have hair in case she had a nice colony of lice living in her crusty unkempt hair.

Later that evening after getting back to the hostel, I was laying there replaying the night in my head and something accrued to me.  I normally don’t carry money in my top shirt pocket but tonight was the exception, holding it for Cecile when we went out.  Getting up and going to my shirt, I reached into my pocket and no money was in there except for perhaps the fecal residue from the woman’s fingers as she quickly slid them into my pocket.  I could do nothing but smile and say Merry Christmas because she was good.

I have not been so fortunate the past month.  It all started with my camera, then my computer and now this.  Even though events like this will add to my water cooler stories when I am working again 10+ hours days under the florescent lights, I just I hope this doesn’t become a new trend. 

I need more junk in my trunk

December 23, 2011:  Having something like vacation #8 within the past year, Cecile decided to visit me in Salvador during her two week Christmas break rather than fly back to France.  Picking her up at the airport she looked more like a mule going through customs than a tourist, as she was transporting candy, Christmas presents, Christmas movies, electronic equipment and 2 new cameras to name just a few things.  Looking at her backpack, 2/3 of the stuff she brought was mine and the other 1/3 was her traveling basics.

Shortly after her arrival, we left Salvador and spent a few days at Chapada Diamantina National Park.  Anytime spent in a national park in any country could not possibly be poor time or life management.  Not having a car and being at a National Park surely has its obvious drawbacks, restricting our plans to be organized and packaged.  Seeing some great rocks, trees, waterfalls and some amazing viewpoints, it was a refreshing and well needed break from the urine stained cobblestoned streets of Salvador.

On our last day, we spent the remaining time and little energy that we had left hiking to a natural stone waterslide.  Once there, we saw a pack of locals showing off as they quite effortlessly leaped into the dark blackish brown water from the large rocks that sat on the side of the river.  There was also an older guy in his Speedos that was quite entertaining as he would do pushups almost everywhere it seemed, trying to attract attention from the ladies – getting more discreet laughs than women ogling him.  Right after one of Mr. Speedos many pushup sessions, a tourist half his size mocked him doing some porn star like pushups, dropping his head up and down as he simulated humping the ground.  It would have been worth a few friendly punches from Mr. Speedos, but it was taken well. 

Watching everyone all afternoon sliding down the natural rock slide made it look easy – look easy.  Walking up to the top I became confused on where to go down.  Losing my footing, I began to slide toward a small but rocky pit – the only one on the whole entire slide.  Spreading my legs as wide as a dirty whore, my feet couldn’t catch the sides as I dropped into it banging my toe pretty badly.  This was not a good start but when I actually did begin moving forward, I sat on my hands to make up for the lack of junk in my trunk as I launched it down the slide and into the water.   It was fun, but only a “one time” fun. 

Traveling to Hell by bus? if so, bring a jacket.

December 15, 2011:  I had a decent game of human pinball going on this morning as I bounced from the right to left side of the bus, attempting to get photos of Chapada dos Diamontes National Park while passing it at over 110+ km per hour.  There were so many nice rock formations and lush green foliage that covered hill after hill, it excites me that I will be coming back here in a few short days to explore it more fully.

The farther I traveled into the Brazilian interior the past few weeks, the more I noticed that the leg room on the buses have been steadily decreasing.  Surely I am not getting taller, so I am wondering if it is because the people are getting shorter or if the bus companies are simply trying to fit an extra row of seats in.
 
This 27 hour bus ride from Perinopolis to Salvador was another trip to strengthen my thoughts about why a conductor of a bus keeps the interior temperature so brutally cold.  When you no longer feel your hands and the bitter air in the cabin is clouding your thoughts, you’re obviously not going to have as much energy to be unruly when you are on the borderline of suffering from hypothermia. 

Mental note #273:  Bring jacket, hat and gloves for all future bus travel…no matter if I am traveling to the equator or to even Hell itself - the ride there would also be just as cold.